


The Usual Tactics

by thesilverarrow



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/thesilverarrow
Summary: There was no sudden shift. That should have been his clue. There was just a subtle ramping up of his usual behavior -- voice pitched low, bedroom eyes, deliberate but restrained swagger -- until it was blatant enough he felt he had no choice but call him on it.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 9
Kudos: 201





	The Usual Tactics

**Author's Note:**

> Not particularly tethered to canon, but it would have to be Skyfall or later.

There was no sudden shift. That should have been his clue. There was just a subtle ramping up of his usual behavior -- voice pitched low, bedroom eyes, deliberate but restrained swagger -- until it was blatant enough he felt he had no choice but call him on it.

Double-O-Seven stood in front of Q in an immaculately, distractingly well-fitted navy suit, white shirt, no tie. Simple. Perfect. A warm smile was in his eyes if not completely transforming his face, which meant he was using just the power of his presence to compel Q to follow his instincts -- to go against his reason -- and give him whatever it was he wanted.

Which he was already prepared to do, for reasons other than the man's tight frame and strong hands, but that was far beside the point.

Bond leaned over the desk farther than was strictly necessary to pluck the keys from Q's open palm, close enough that Q could smell his aftershave and see just how perfectly well groomed he was, not a hint of stubble. Rare, indeed. When the man leaned back, he reached out and lay a hand on Q's neck, just for a moment.

"I don't say this often enough," he said, "but you are an excellent Quartermaster."

"I know," Q replied, with a damn sight more flirtation than he intended.

He tried not to watch the man walk out, but his hips were mesmerizing, and his ass was...

"She warned me about you, you know," he found himself calling out.

Bond didn't stop walking, but he turned so he could see him.

Q continued, "She said that once you discovered I was inclined to men, you'd try the usual tactics on me."

A quick, genuine smile bloomed on Bond's face, and he came to a stop, or at least a momentary pause. A heavy pause. No one else could command attention so quietly.

Then he said, "That wasn't me trying."

Q tried but failed to suppress the blush that crept up his neck and onto his face. But it was okay. Bond was already turning to slip out the door.

Later that evening, Q was curled up on his couch with his laptop, drinking wine and forcing himself to think through a tedious user interface for a brilliant program, when he heard a knock at the door.

When he opened it, there was Double-O Seven, dressed in well-worn jeans, combat boots past their prime, and a black v-neck sweater.

"Off-duty or very much on?" Q asked him, looking his ensemble up and down.

Bond adjusted pretty quickly to the fact that he didn't ask, Why are you here? or What do you need? Luckily, he was also one for forgoing pretense.

"I get tired of suits. This, you see, is me."

As Q stepped back and ushered the man inside, he said, "Or a carefully cultivated persona I haven't met yet."

Bond's chest expanded in a silent chuckle. "This isn't the persona I'd bet on for attracting your attention."

"As if you don't already have it."

Bond seemed to ignore that comment, but his shoulders lost a bit of their tension.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"I was out walking," he murmured, eyes wandering the room as if nonchalantly, which meant they decidedly were not. "My feet brought me this way." Then those blue eyes drifted back and fixed on his. "I wanted to be clear, about earlier."

"Oh?"

They were lingering in the entryway, standing a little too close but not alarmingly so. Close enough that it was clear neither of them were planning on moving into the seating area. It almost seemed as if Bond were preparing for a quick exit. Almost.

"Persuasion, by any means necessary, is what I do," he murmured, "and you shouldn't take it personally."

"Understood."

"But the means I use to reach a particular end don't have to be insincere." He looked him in the eyes just a little too long, then he sighed a bit and added,"They can also stop. Just say so."

"You know that I won't," Q replied calmly but warmly, "or you wouldn't be here."

At that, he finally smiled, that wry smile which was all James. And, too, the calm assurance was very James. He said:

"If I knew for certain, I'd've taken you right there on your desk. Or let myself be taken. I could never work out whether you'd be a top or a bottom."

His breath caught in his throat. Gorgeous, infuriating human.

"Putting aside" -- he swallowed against a lump in his throat --"the cheekiness of your question, you said 'could,' not 'can.'"

"I suppose I still can't, but I've decided it doesn't matter."

"You don't have a preference?"

"I prefer you."

In spite of himself, he smiled at that, but he quickly suppressed it into a wry smirk.

"Does that kind of line usually work?"

James nodded, adding with a grin both self-effacing and predatory, "The beautiful thing -- when it doesn't, that works, too."

With just a step forward, James was suddenly right there in his personal space. Q let his hands come up and rest on the man's chest.

"I want you to know I don't usually go for you reckless knots of muscles."

"I know."

"You know?"

James leaned in a little more, so that he could press a soft almost-kiss to the underside of his jaw. Then he murmured, "You'd have better defenses up if you did."

"Yes, that old cliche about hypermasculine men always jumping into bed with software engineers."

"Let's just say I never could resist a challenge."

"I'm not a challenge. I'm exactly what you see."

"That's a challenge. How do I keep from marking up all your pale, gorgeous skin."

"You don't," he replied. With that, he pressed him into stepping back until his shoulders hit the inside of the door. One hand grasped his bicep to steady himself as he leaned in and bit James on the neck.

The man instantly braced himself, almost as for an attack, but it soon became clear he was letting Q lead, waiting with interest to see what he would do next. Q's nipping teeth gave way to soft, wet lips, kissing a slow trail down over his throat, then back up again. He let his mouth rest softly against Bond's, and when Bond pressed in for a long, searing kiss, he finally felt a jolt of adrenaline wash over him.

He pulled back a bit, just enough to breathe, and to then say against Bond's mouth, "While I'm not exactly equipped to manhandle you, I can take you, if that's what you want."

"I'll take that under advisement. But..."

"If you've ever entertained notions of dragging me, caveman-like, to the bed and shagging me silly, I'm amenable."

"Oh?"

"Quite."

"It sounds like maybe you've entertained notions."

"Perhaps."

"So you usually..."

"Mmm hmm. But--"

At that, Bond stepped away from the door, taking Q with him. As he pushed him into motion, he said, "Bed."

There was never anything sexy about the quick walk to the bedroom, not unless one was a desperate teenager, more interested in grasping and snogging than actually getting anywhere. Luckily, his flat was not large, and when he stepped through the doorway and turned, he found James already right there, hands eagerly searching, mouth pressing kisses along his collarbone, his neck. And guiding him backward toward the bed.

About the time the back of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, James was dropping to his knees in front of him, deft fingers already tackling the button on his fly. James didn't so much as palm him through his trousers, but he could feel his hot breath anyway, and he could feel himself coming up hard fast enough that it made him instantly pretty uncomfortable. Instinctively, his hands went to James's neck and head to steady himself, at which point James smiled up at him, something between seductive and amused.

Q murmured, "We don't have to--" He sucked in a short, hard breath as James finally got the button undone and was tugging at the zipper-- "We don't..."

"Words, darling," he murmured, and Q could hear the smile on his lips.

"You don't have to be kneeling on the floor."

"What if I want to?"

Before he could answer, James was nuzzling his erection through his pants, and all rational thought went out of his brain.

James was pretty good at giving head for a guy who clearly didn't swing that way terribly often. He'd expected a tease, but what he got was a slow build toward a perfect, steady suction, and within a couple of minutes Q tugged him back by his hair. James's mouth came off his cock with a wet pop.

James looked up inquisitively for a moment before he leaned forward and began planting quite frankly obscene kisses to his hips and thighs.

"Seriously," Q said, stroking his head, "if you plan on fucking me, don't be so good at that."

Finally, James stood up and pointed at the bed, giving Q's jumper a tug. "Naked. Bed."

"You, too," he said with a snort and a sort of helpless smile.

"That caveman-like enough for you?"

"You're going to make me regret saying that, aren't you?"

He just shook his head, grinning, and pulled his jumper over his head. Soon, there was the clink of a buckle, the snick of a zipper, and the denims followed.

Q had seen Double-O Seven shirtless countless times and in his underwear on a maddening handful of occasions, so he knew roughly what to expect. But it's one thing to surreptitiously glance in the middle of a medical procedure or during an evaluation and another thing to stare at that taut body crawling onto the end of your bed, a long, lean cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs.

James stopped in a crouch over him, his body so close but not close enough. He smelled like the same aftershave, plus deodorant and soap and, underneath it all, the musk of the man himself.

"I don't think of you as just a software engineer, by the way," he murmured, looking his fill at Q's body in a way that would've made him nervous a few years ago but now just made him squirm with anticipation.

"No?"

"You're a brilliant man with piercing eyes, a distracting purr of a voice, and a pretty perfect arse. I even like your unruly, classics-professor hair."

"You can pull it. I don't mind."

At that, James finally let his body settle into Q's, and it was so shockingly warm and hard that Q's eyes closed against the sensation and fought a full-body shudder. Quickly, he felt one of James's hands slipping up into his hairline. Rather than pull, it swirled against his scalp.

Mouth against the shell of his ear, James said, "You don't mind, or you like it?"

"I like it."

He smiled, then, without a lot of prelude, he pulled himself up and moved down between Q's legs.

"Nightstand?" he said.

Q nodded.

After he retrieved the lube, he didn't use it immediately. He instead resumed the blow job, now also letting his fingers roam the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs before cupping his bollocks and sucking him down deep. It was all he could do not to thrust into the man's mouth.

"Fuck," he murmured.

James pulled off, replacing his mouth with his hand, and said, "I don't think I've ever heard you curse before tonight."

"You've never had your mouth on my cock before, either."

He smiled and finally reached for the lube.

James was thorough in opening him up, one finger at a time. He sucked him while he did so, but idly, just to keep him hard and, maybe, to tease a bit. By the time he was ready, he was already leaking a bit, and praying he wouldn't just go off once the man pressed inside him.

Luckily, James seemed to be in the same predicament. After he guided Q up and onto his hands and knees, he braced himself and pushed in with one slow stroke, but after he was seated, he took a long, ragged breath.

"You can move," Q said, shifting his hips just a little.

He was quickly met with Bond's hands gripping him tight, holding him still.

"No, I can't," he said, in a rough but warm and only somewhat sheepish voice.

"We could talk about baseball," Q murmured, trying to project as much good humor as possible when, truth be told, he felt achingly impatient.

After a moment, Bond relaxed his grip and Q felt his hips begin to shift.

"Sorry," he murmured after a few thrusts. "Been a while."

"Not complaining."

"Tell me what you like."

He pulled him closer to his body, close enough that he could feel James's tentative thrusts strike him in near enough to the right place. He was taking a slow, measured pace, at least for the moment.

"Harder if you want," Q replied.

At that, James began fucking him in long, hard strokes. It was pretty blissful, which made it seem to last a lot longer than it undoubtedly did. He fell into the rhythm of their bodies, the push and pull, the steady slap, the flex of muscles. They didn't speak anymore, but the slick slap of their bodies was punctuated by a few groans and grunts. At some point, James's hand curled around his hip, fingers reaching for him tentatively. Though it might've been more effective to do it himself, he let James jerk him in sloppy strokes, harder the closer he got to his own orgasm.

After James came with a long groan, stilling inside him for a moment, he began rocking into him again, pressing kisses into his back and telling him how good he felt and how much he wanted to feel him come. It didn't take long, not with one strong hand steadying him and the other gripping him tightly and letting him set the pace, letting him fuck into that closed fist. He came with his own even louder groan.

"Fuck," he gasped out, then James pulled out and he moaned and swore again: "Jesus."

James pulled him up and back against his chest, just for a second. He gave his neck a biting kiss, murmuring, "Gorgeous, you," then released him, whereupon Q dropped back onto the bed and rolled over, still feeling the adrenaline racing through his veins, his heart thumping hard but beginning to slow.

After James disposed of the condom and tossed him a washcloth, he started pulling his clothes back on.

"I would stay, but--"

"Don't bother prevaricating," he said, sitting up for a moment and fixing him with a serious stare before lying back against the pillow. "I didn't expect you to be the cuddly type."

"I can be." Q gave him a skeptical look, so he added, "I'm frightfully lazy, anyway, which amounts to the same. But I really do have to be somewhere. Shifty informant, classified data."

"I see. Two birds, one stone?"

"I didn't know how many birds, exactly."

Q rolled his eyes and flapped his hand at him. "You didn't have to lie to me. About the reason you were out, I mean."

"Not a lie. Polite fiction."

"Only in pornography must one concoct excuses."

James walked over to the side of the bed, and reached out to run his fingers down Q's arm companionably. "Honestly, it's not even my job. Doing M a favor, so not at liberty to talk about it."

"Say that next time," he said, catching James's hand and kissing the back of it before releasing him to keep dressing.

"Next time?"

"Next time you're doing a late night, off-the-books favor for M and definitely not looking for someone to shag."

"Not next time I need something from Q branch?"

"Never at Q branch."

"Never?"

"Not a challenge, Double-O-Seven."

"What about flirting?"

"Don't you have Moneypenny for that kind of borderline harassment?"

At that, he grinned widely before tamping it down into a smirk. "Why do you think she clued me in to you?"

"She might've clued me in as well."

He was fully dressed now, boots laced, still flushed but as composed as ever.

"Where's the fun in that?" he said, raising his eyebrows at him before he ducked into the hallway.


End file.
